The Tragic Take of Chris and Ernie

Summary: Chris is just a regular working man. When the dead rise, he decides that he just wants to go home. Everything is going just fine until he decides to be a good citizen and pick up a stranger in need...

Chapter 1

Chris took a sip from the paper
cup he’d been holding for the past twenty minutes. Blech! Cold. He hated cold coffee. Still, he choked down the rest
of it, crumpled the cup, and tossed it on the floor. Not that anyone would
notice.

The newsroom was a disaster.
There was paper strewn or scattered everywhere. People were darting around
while the two men on camera sat across from one another arguing about the
probability that all the violence in the streets was due to the dead rising and
attacking the living.

Chris glanced at the door.
Everywhere he looked, people were arguing like it was the end of the world. He
tried to block out the yelling and formulate a plan. He knew that all the
arguing being done couldn’t change what he had seen on his way into work at
around 3 o’clock this afternoon…

He’d
driven past the junior high school four blocks from his house. Because of the
declared emergency, Chris expected to see the place empty. And for the most
part…it was. But on the blacktop playground where the kids were usually either
engrossed in a kickball game or shooting hoops, he’d seen two of them. The rest of his drive into the station,
he’d tried to convince himself that one of them hadn’t been missing an arm from
the elbow down. And not the neat and clean amputee-look. No, sir. This arm had
stuff dripping from it, and a good chunk of what was probably bone jutting out
from the ‘meaty’ part. Say what you would…there was something very wrong and
bad happening. Sitting in this television studio arguing about it wasn’t making
anything better.

He took one more look across the
chaotic studio and considered if he should tell anyone or invite any of the
others to join him. “Nah,” Chris said under his breath.

Once in the parking lot, he
looked for his car, a 1967 Rambler Rebel. It wasn’t the flashiest car, but the
entire front seat folded down, which was way cool when he took a girl to the
drive-in. Hell, it was almost as cool as a van.

A strange sound carried on the
cold and cloudy night air. It took him a moment to realize what he was hearing.
Gunshots!

Not in any big hurry, Chris
wandered over to the edge of the parking garage. He was on the top floor,
six-stories above the eerily traffic-free streets of downtown Pittsburg. His
eyes drifted towards the Monongahela and where Interstate 376 ran alongside it.
The interstate looked like a parking lot as far as the eyes could see in both
directions.

On the streets below, a police
car sped around the corner. The driver locked the brakes, and the vehicle
turned a slick one-eighty. It stopped, and both doors blew open. He watched as
the two cops drew their guns and fired back into the vehicle.

Shadowy forms emerged from every
direction, homing in on the officers who were yelling back and forth at each
other while reloading, Chris couldn’t make out what they were saying, his eyes
were drawn to the dozen or so figures closing in—albeit rather slowly—on the
cops. After a moment’s consideration, and deciding those two were so focused on
whatever was inside the back of their car that they weren’t paying attention,
he decided to yell.

“Hey!” he hollered.

The cops spun and fired his
direction! Chris dove to the ground, but he felt a stinging sensation on his
cheek where one of the bullets had hit the concrete and sent shards of it up
and into his face.

He lay still for a moment,
feeling his heart pounding in his chest. Pain started to build, and it took him
a moment to realize that he was holding his breath. He gasped and sucked his
lungs full of the cool night air while he tried to get his composure. Then…he
heard a sound unlike any before in his life.

A scream.

It actually took him some time to
realize that he was hearing a human—or humans—screaming. It was coming from
down on the streets. The cops!

Chris jumped up and looked. The part
of his mind that was still trying not to accept everything that was happening
was concerned that maybe the police were hurting even further whomever they’d
shot up in the back of the car. What he saw took the last shred of rationality
that remained and cast it out.

By the time his eyes had adjusted
to the pale blue of the street lights, the two cops were practically impossible
to see. Instead, he could make out members of the mob surrounding the lone
police car stumbling away with…parts. One was clearly carrying most of an arm.
Another had a sloppy strand of something that Chris had no desire to know what
it was.

A sound tore his attention away
from the carnage below. A woman limped down the center of the aisle. He watched
as she hobbled into the illuminated circles of yellow that one of the evenly
spaced, pole-mounted lights provided. What he saw in the sickly glow made his
stomach turn. The woman was vaguely recognizable as the co-anchor of the
morning news. Only…

Chris vomited in a loud retching
splash. He wiped his mouth and looked up to see Bernadette Simons—rather, what
was left of her—had turned in his direction. Her floral-print silk blouse
fluttered in the breeze, giving an even clearer view of the damage. It didn’t
seem that any of the buttons remained. Chris only had a flash of appreciation
that his oft-imagined fantasy of what her breasts looked like was fairly
accurate. Unfortunately, his eyes could not pull away from the gaping hole just
below her rib cage to just above her belted, corduroy pants. There were things
hanging out of her that he could not begin to identify. But, dangling to her
knees was a strand of what could only be her intestines.

“Miss Simons?” Chris said through
the bile thickened saliva that coated his mouth.

She came at him with arms
outstretched, mouth opened and issuing a low, guttural moan. Her eyes were
milky and showed no sign of recognition. Her skin color, normally a perfect
ivory-white that seemed even more brilliant in contrast to her raven hair, was
a vile bluish-gray.

Fumbling with his keys, Chris
backed away from the horror that had once been Bernadette Simons. He edged
around the car that he had been standing by and, once he was certain that his
pursuer was in between a pair of cars, he turned and ran. As he slid into the
driver’s seat, two more of those things came shambling into view. One of them
was clutching a strip of what looked like Bernadette’s blouse.

The engine turned over, and Chris
backed out of his space. A dull thud sounded as he smacked into yet another of
those…

What
the hell are they?
he wondered. The news had initially claimed that there were some crazed
lunatics on the loose. Then, they’d called them ‘ghouls’. The most recent label
that he had heard was ‘zombies’. Weren’t zombies some sort of weird voodoo
thing?

Chris shifted into gear and
headed towards the ramp leading down to the exit. He winced as his bumper
clipped Bernadette. At each floor, things got just a bit worse. What began as
one or two scattered about became packs of four or five by the time he reached
the bottom level. He came to a stop about fifty feet from the exit.

Ahead was the well-lit security
shack. Inside was old man Ernie Ziglinski. Outside were at least a dozen of
those…zombies. They were all pounding on the glass, smearing it up. Ernie was
holding his neck, and Chris could see a lot of blood on his hands.

Chris ran over his options. He
could floor it and try to plow through…or…he could try and help the old man. A
hand slapped against the glass of the passenger’s side window. Chris jumped,
involuntary taking his foot off the clutch. The car lurched forward and then
the engine died.

“Sonuvabitch!” his voice cracked.

Apparently Ernie had noticed him.
He was now pounding on the glass from inside the booth. Chris was no
lip-reader, but it was easy to see the words “Please help!” Also, several of the monsters turned
around…and were now coming his way!

Chris started the car again, and
took a few deep breaths as he surveyed the situation. This could work. He
waited, urging the zombies to come closer. Once he was confident that he had
enough open space for his plan, he flipped on the interior dome light and waved
his arms to get Ernie’s attention. He pointed to the back door. That would be
the easiest way to get him into the car. Ernie nodded and brandished his
two-foot long flashlight.

Taking a deep breath, Chris
gunned the engine, dropped it into gear, and launched up the aisle. The
mechanical arm that barred the exit rose, and Ernie threw open the door to the
shack. Bodies bounced and spun off the front bumper or careened off the sides.
With a screech of tires, Chris skidded to a halt. Ernie shoved a few of the
nearby zombies aside or else clubbed them with his heavy, chrome-plated
flashlight. He pulled the back door open and dove in behind Chris. As the door
slammed shut, the Rambler’s tires were already spinning. They burst out of the
parking garage and onto the mostly empty streets.

“Thanks for pickin’ me up,
brother.” Ernie clasped Chris’ shoulder with one hand. Chris tried not to
notice the tackiness of the blood that coated it.

“Looks like you got messed up a
bit there.” Chris caught the eyes of the old man in his rearview mirror.

“Damndest thing,” Ernie tugged at
his long-sleeve shirt, tearing away a strip. “One of them fellas managed to
sneak up behind me and started to bite down on the back of m’neck. I pulled
away, but it kept a piece.”

Chris hung a left on an access
road that ran parallel to the river and congested parking lot that was
Interstate 376. He knew a couple of places along the waterfront that they could
duck into.

“Got family out near
Monroeville,” Ernie mumbled. “Maybe we could hole up with…” his voice trailed
off to a low rattle.

Chris glanced at the man in his
rearview mirror again. He was leaning against the window, asleep. He’d wrapped
a strip of the shirt around his throat. A wad of something was against the
wound, but it looked as if it was already soaked through. The old man was hurt
worse than he realized…or would admit.

Eyes front, Chris slammed on the
brakes. A cluster of those things were in the middle of the road. They’d caught
a bum judging by the filthy clothing and wild hair—unkempt and unruly—in
obvious need of a washing.

They had him by the arms and
around the waist. Chris could only watch in the arc of his headlights and the
glow from the streetlights and business signs—mostly bars—that lit up this
stretch of road. One of them bit down
on the hand it held just above the wrist. Others were tearing away the man’s
jacket. There was a scream…long, loud, and terrible…as teeth sunk into arms,
legs, and even his face. The group tumbled to the ground, and Chris saw dark
fluid jet into the air.

There was another series of
shrieks as they ripped him open. Hands sunk into the newly splayed cavity,
steam rose from it on the cold night air as strands and chunks were torn free
and feasted upon. A few on the fringe that were unable to join in the feeding frenzy
turned towards the car.

“Oh shit!” Chris shifted and tore
past the outstretched hands.

His gaze darted along the
waterfront side of the road. Tall fences and locked gates denied him access if
he wanted to keep his car. However, with all he was seeing, it might be worth
it to ditch the car for the safety of those tall, chain-linked fences.

“Hey, Ernie!” Chris called,
glancing in the mirror. The old man was definitely out.

Up ahead, one of the gates was
open. Chris turned in to discover a few cars parked at random angles. Two were
police cars. Perfect, he thought, maybe he could get some help. He turned into
a spot deciding that, while it was okay for cops to park any way they wanted,
he didn’t need any useless hassles.

“I think I found help, Ernie.” Chris
hoped it wasn’t too late.

As he turned off the engine, one
of Ernie’s hands slapped the top of the bench seat causing Chris to almost wet
his pants. He flipped up his door lock, opened the door, and started to climb
out. He glanced back as Ernie pulled himself up and Chris found himself staring
into dead, flat eyes—eyes just like Bridgette’s.

“Oh, Ernie.” Chris choked back a
sob. Cold lifeless hands reached for him, breaking the spell. Chris tumbled out
the rest of the way, sprawling on the cold cement. He kicked the door closed,
realizing too late that he’d left his keys in the ignition.

A new sound carried on the night
air. He spun towards the water as a small boat loaded down with boxes and what
looked like three or four uniformed officers chugged out of a nearby boathouse.
Chris considered hollering, but decided against it. He’d gotten this far on his
own, and perhaps he would fare better if he made decisions for himself…at least
for a while.

He glanced at his car and the
face pressed against the glass in the back seat. He could always open the door
and let Ernie out, lead him away, then run back to the car and take off. First,
he would check the area for anything useful.

In one office he heard the
crackle of a radio. He ducked in to discover a body slumped over the counter.
It looked like the man had taken a bullet to the head. Maybe he’d been one of
those things. Chris remembered hearing that the only way to kill one was to
shoot it in the head, or otherwise destroy the brain. Or, maybe the man had
tried to stop the policemen who’d just putted away in that boat.

After looking around in two more
buildings, each attached to its own pier, he found a boat. Still, even if he
took the boat, where would he go? The
cops had gone east…obviously deciding to get away from the city…as well as
their coworkers who might not think highly of them abandoning their duties. He
didn’t particularly like the idea of heading back into the heart of the
problem. But, he didn’t want to follow those cops just in case the worker that
had been shot in the head was some of their handiwork.

After another twenty minutes,
Chris managed to discover and haul seven Civil Defense emergency boxes that
appeared to have been left behind to his boat. Each time he passed within sight
of his car, Ernie started pounding on the window. The sad thing was, each time
it happened made Chris jump. Of course, the first time, he might have
screamed…just a bit.

He knew that it wasn’t right—just
leaving Ernie like this. So here he stood, next to the car studying the sagging
face of the guy who’d had a smile and something pleasant to say to everybody
who drove into that parking garage. It didn’t matter what the weather was like,
or that you acknowledged him back. A couple of times, he even helped break into
the Rambler when Chris had locked his keys inside. Maybe he should do
something.

Ernie stopped pounding and was
now staring at him. His mouth was open, a bit of drool running down his chin
mixing with the nearly dried blood. Chris realized something funny, between the
blue-gray discoloration, and the way his face now drooped as if the flesh was
too heavy for the facial muscles to hold it up…the creature in his car now only
resembled Ernie.

Perhaps if he got his keys, he
could open his trunk and…and what? Chris shuddered at the thought that flashed
in his mind. How in the hell could he think about getting a tire iron and
taking it to the head of that poor man? No, what he needed to do was to free
Ernie from the car.

He thought it over for a moment. Sure,
he would be letting another one of those things loose…but at this point, what
was one more? It didn’t seem like it could make that much of a difference. Besides,
maybe he could lure Ernie to the boathouse. At least in there he could wander
around. Chris could shut him in and then cast off. He’d just have to hope that
the poor old guy didn’t try to follow the boat and fall into the water. Still,
it was better than leaving him in the car.

He reached for the driver’s side
door, keeping an eye on the slightly gross caricature of old man Ernie. His
head turned, following Chris. When he opened the door, two things happened with
catastrophic suddenness: first…the stench that rolled out of the car made Chris
start heaving uncontrollably, second…Ernie lunged forward, coming almost
halfway over the back of the bench seat.

Chris stumbled back and landed on
his right side. The way he fell—unable to do anything to brace for the
impact—knocked the wind from him. That, coupled with the thick vomit clogging
his nostrils and coating his mouth, completely incapacitated him.

Never in his life had Chris
smelled anything quite like that. Either he hadn’t been paying attention in the
car, and inexplicably tuned the smell out, or…the combination of the dead Ernie
and a closed up car for the past half hour or so had allowed that gawdawful
funk to build.

Whatever the case, it didn’t
matter now. The thing that had once been Ernie was struggling to get over the
seat. One hand landed square on the horn and didn’t seem to be coming off it
any time soon. The sound carried on the night air for what began to seem like
forever as Chris struggled not only to gain his ability to breathe, but to get
back up on his feet.

Keeping one eye on the struggle
taking place in the front seat of his car, he rolled weakly to his stomach and
slowly made his way up to his hands and knees. By the time he had gotten that
far in his quest to stand, the Ernie-zombie tumbled the rest of the way into
the front of the car…and mercifully off
the horn.

The sudden silence seemed just a
bit scary. Then he heard a new sound. Not really the sound of walking, but
rather, sort of a draaag-STEP…draaag-STEP.

Chris had been able to control
his panic to this point. He’d had the wind knocked out of him plenty between
football and four older brothers who loved to rough-house. It sucked, but he’d
learned that panic only made it worse. Looking around for the source, he’d felt
his heart kick into a whole new gear when he spied a man…what was left of
him…limping directly towards him. He couldn’t be more than twenty feet away.

There was a lot wrong with this
guy. For starters, he was naked. Several bites had been taken out of his torso.
One particularly nasty rip started at the collar bone on the right side and ran
all the way to the bottom of the ribcage. Chris could actually see each exposed
rib in the three- or four-inch wide tear. One outstretched hand was missing all
the fingers with the exception of the pinky. Something had bitten this guy’s
face just below the left eye and tore out a chunk. The rest of that cheek hung
down past the jaw in a thick meaty flap. The eye seemed to be on the verge of
popping out at any time.

Chris reached down deep for every
ounce of strength that he could muster and struggled to his feet. Just as he
did, Ernie managed to grasp him by one ankle. Chris fell more than dove into
the open front seat of the Rambler. The upper third of his body was now inside
the car. However, Ernie still had his ankle.

Grabbing the steering wheel,
Chris pulled weakly while trying desperately to kick Ernie loose. He felt
another hand claw at the back of his leg. Slowly, he could feel his ability to
breathe returning as he forced himself over and onto his back. Using his
elbows, Chris hauled himself further into his car and away from the two
monsters that were inching closer.

His attempt was not entirely
successful. The Ernie-zombie sunk his teeth into the left leg, scraping away
flesh down the shin and tearing a chunk from the calf. The other had gained
purchase just above the right knee, biting into the flesh, coming away with a
mouthful of meat, tearing a strip from the leg of his pants. Chris yelped in
pain as a lungful of air finally made its way in. The pain provided an entirely
new motivation for him to kick free and move.

Pulling himself upright, Chris
kicked Ernie in the face to knock him away from the open door. Then, stifling
the urge to scream, he pulled it shut. His hand went to the steering
column…this time he didn’t try to hold it in…Chris screamed. During his struggle,
Ernie had snapped off the key in the ignition. Chris knew absolutely nothing
about hotwiring a car.

He stared out at the two horrors
pounding on his driver’s side window. That was bothersome, but what he saw in
the distance was disturbing. He looked around; they had come from every
direction.

There were so many. Chris
relaxed, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. There wasn’t much more
that he could do at the moment. Hopefully, somebody would come along…soon. He
winced as the adrenaline began to ebb and the pain in his leg started making
its presence better known.

Grabbing at his torn pants leg,
he ripped off a couple of strips and tied them off above each wound. Reaching
over to his glove box, Chris opened it and pulled out a pint of Seagram’s 7. Twisting
off the cap, he tapped the bottle on the window where Ernie was still slapping
at the glass, and took a long drink. He never understood folks who wasted good
booze by pouring it on a wound. The warmth in his belly spread, but not as much
as usual. Chris took a few more pulls on the bottle and closed his eyes. By now
there were a few dozen of those things pounding on the car from every side.
Still, Chris felt himself drifting off. That’s
it, he thought, I’ll just catch a nap
and wait for help. It shouldn’t be too long.

He let the bottle slip from his
hand. The last thought he had before losing consciousness was that he should
have left old man Ernie in the car. Moments later, he was breathing slow and
deep.

Then…he stopped.

***

What used to be Ernie stood
outside a 1967 Rambler Rebel. Its cold dead hands rested on the blood and slime
smeared glass of the driver’s side window. Inside, another of its kind stared
out blankly. The two simply locked gazes with one another…motionless…as the sun
rose over the city of Pittsburg.

Write a Review
Did you enjoy my story? Please let me know what you think by leaving a review! Thanks,
Author TW Brown

Sarah Bush:
i didn't know quite what i was diving into when this book started off with a school shooting of kindergarteners but after getting past that sad bit and finding the quirkiest little girl i could possibly imagine taking over for Death i could not shut my phone off until i had read the whole thing. ...

Ava Amerkashi:
I like it. The plot was so good. But still it had some problems as grammer that i give minus points. The ending was sad. I think the main male ruler, Travor, shouldnt die. Becuz i feel the story didnt fulfilled a good ending. But thats author idea :) Dear author, im looking for your next book. Go...

Mamba44:
This book is absolutely stunning. The plot is one of the best I have ever seen. The characters were truly magnifecent and each of them so well described that I have very vivid pictures of each and every one of them in my mind. It is as if I know these characters personally. The spelling and gramm...

Jesse Mae:
Overall the story was great but there were some problems. There were some plot holes throughout that made it not flow like it could have and then grammar was also an issue. The story just needs to be edited and it would be alot better. I recommend this story to people and I hope the author edits....

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